Some clergy we know won’t leave cathedrals.

Why should they? There they have all that they need:

Pomp, faith and power over life and death.

The ones who do venture out discover

A mess of a world, with stammering crowds,

Stricken women who curse when buying bread,

The rich, first in line for absolution.

Yet they negotiate the obstacles,

Jump the barriers, take rough stuff on the chin.

They are a quieter breed, less boisterous

That the Sunday tub thumpers; unimpressed

By swivel chairs and see-though furniture.

They know that the word is spread on the road,

By simple smiles or the touch of a hand.